


From A New Perspective

by annalikestotalk



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Dialogue Heavy, Emotional Manipulation, Gen, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Pre-Slash, hannibal lecter is not good
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:20:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23111599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annalikestotalk/pseuds/annalikestotalk
Summary: “I am not a good person, Will.”“Yeah,” he snorts, “pretty sure I figured that one out.”
Relationships: Pre-Relationship - Relationship, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 4
Kudos: 64





	From A New Perspective

“I am not a good person, Will.”

“Yeah,” he snorts, “pretty sure I figured that one out.”

“Have you?” Will shoots a look at Hannibal, whose face hasn’t moved from its usual unaffected neutrality.

“Fairly certain that became obvious once the whole cannibal thing came up. Thanks for your faith in my observational skills, though.” The corners of Hannibal’s lips turn down slightly, and Will tries to remember when he started to pay so much attention to Hannibal’s mouth.

“Your observational skills are exceptional and without peer. Your judgement of character could, perhaps, be called into question.”

Will sighs and rubs his hand across his face. If he’d known Hannibal wanted a heart-to-heart, he’d have said no to the whiskey.

“Go on then. Say whatever it is you’re so desperate to say.” Hannibal’s frown is disapproving, and Will ignores the part of him that immediately wants to sit up straighter. He slouches a little more just to see the line between his brows deepen.

“My nature is singular and unchangeable, Will. Your presence in my life is a gift which allows me to grow and evolve, but I am still the same man I have always been. I cannot change.”

Not for the first time, Will wishes he could read Hannibal better – or even at all, really. When Hannibal has his guard up, Will may as well be illiterate.

“I know that.”

“Do you, Will? Do you really? Each day we play out a perfect tableau of domesticity – I cook and you eat at my table. We walk through town together. We sit together in the evening and drink, and talk, and at no point do you consider that the characters we play may be just that.”

“I don’t know what point you’re trying to make, Hannibal. The only character I’m playing here is myself.”

“You are wrong.” It’s the sharpest tone Will has ever heard from him, and it surprises him into glancing once more at Hannibal’s face. Once there, however, he finds he can’t tear his eyes away – there’s something shining through the mask, something sharp and vicious, like the glint of light off a blade. “You are playing the person you used to be. It is a role you are very good at, to be sure, but it is not _you_. I have seen you, Will. You are the man for whom I left everything behind, the man I killed for, the man I killed _with_.”

A cold shock goes down Will’s spine and his stomach lurches. Distantly he remembers a winter fishing trip, many years ago, where the ice was thinner than he had expected it to be. It is a feeling he associates with a fast approaching threat, and the vague and ridiculous betrayal of an expectation dashed.

“You want to kill again.” Hannibal’s face closes off, becomes the careful mask of neutrality he uses to manipulate the people around him. Will had thought he had become used to it over the months since the fall, even felt some fondness towards Hannibal for his impeccable control, but the return of it now makes Will want to both lash out and flee.

“You know who I am, Will. You know _what_ I am.”

“But – I thought-“ _I thought I was enough for you._ He resolutely refuses to let the words cross his lips. Of course he was wrong. And once again, Hannibal is right – he _had_ forgotten who Hannibal was, _what_ he was, and still is. Will had been playing house with a lamb, forgetting in the calm that it was just a mask, perfectly donned to hide the lion beneath.

“What did you think, Will? Did you think I had been tamed? Did you think you had put a leash on me?” In the flickering firelight Will can almost convince himself that the shadows above Hannibal’s head are antlers, but when he squeezes his eyes tight and opens them again, they’re just shadows. He takes a deep breath and tries to slow his heart.

Hannibal has sat forward in his armchair. He’s not quite leaning towards Will, but he finds himself cowed anyway. Hannibal’s presence seems suddenly magnified, as though he is filling every space in the room that Will himself does not occupy. It’s a heavy feeling, as though the air itself has been replaced by him, and Will feels his chest get tighter with each breath. Hannibal’s eyes hold his in a way that is only as much of a contest as a deer can be said to have with the headlights approaching it.

“What would you do? How would you react, dear Will, if I brought a guest home for dinner?” Will’s shoulders hunch in on themselves. Hannibal’s eyes glint again, and he does lean forward now, not a foot away from him, within arm’s reach. Will ignores every instinct telling him to run, and forces himself to stay where he is. “Is that not the correct term? What would you prefer, hmm? If I brought a body home? A victim?”

“Stop.” It comes out quiet, forced between gritted teeth, but it comes out regardless, hanging in the air between them.

“I _have_ stopped. I have stopped everything for you, Will. I would stop the earth rotating if were within my power and you demanded it. But perhaps such a gift would be wasted on you. Perhaps there are others who would appreciate the lengths I will go to for the things I call mine.”

“Oth- Others? You, you can’t mean, you can’t-“ Will’s chest feels as though it might be caving in, and he’s no longer taking in air. Surely he can’t mean…?

“I can’t what, Will? I can’t find someone who will accept what I am without reserve? I can’t _leave you?_ ” He growls the last words as though they hurt to say, as though gritting them out is like glass shards in his throat, and in the moment the words take to process, Will truly believes that this is the end of everything, that Hannibal will walk away, and Will... what? What will Will do? What is Will without Hannibal now? One half without its matching piece, doomed to wander, bleeding, until the end finally finds him? Him and Hannibal are intertwined. They _cannot_ leave each other.

They cannot leave each other.

In a single moment, the air rushes back into the room. Will breathes deeply, meets Hannibal’s dangerous eyes, and laughs.

“Exactly.” Hannibal’s face is murderous, but Will is not afraid. Will understands now; Hannibal is not a good person. Will knows. Will _sees_. “You _can’t_ leave me.” He’s grinning, and he knows it’s doing nothing but riling Hannibal up, but Will is _not afraid_. “You’ve tried before, and look how that went. You and I, Hannibal, we will be together until we die. And you've already chosen not to kill me.”

“I could change my mind.”

“No, you couldn’t.”

Hannibal stares for a moment, and then sits back and regards Will with a wary gaze. Will is still very much riding on the high of the moment’s revelation, and without thinking he leans towards him.

“It appears we are at an impasse.” The sharp look is gone, although Hannibal’s usual mask has not appeared to replace it yet, and Will sees a resigned weariness that tells him something else, something he isn’t sure he wants to know.

“No, we’re not.” Hannibal glances at him, curious, and Will wonders if the next words he says will be the ones that truly damn him. “You’d stop. If I said no, you would stop.”

Hannibal just sighs, and it’s more of an answer than any words could be.

“I liked you more when you couldn’t see through me.”

“No, you didn’t.” Hannibal smiles.

“No, I didn’t.” A moment’s silence. “I suppose the play continues then.”

“Does it?”

“You said it yourself, Will. As much as it does not please me to admit it, you hold more control over me than I had intended to give you.” Their eyes meet once more and Hannibal smiles, soft and sad. “You have made your decision, and I have made mine. The show goes on.”

He stands from his chair, and the light from the dying embers frames his profile, casting him half in light and half in shadow. Will does not see antlers.

“I am not a good person, Hannibal.” He pauses where he stands, half turned towards the door, and the glance he sends Will’s way is unreadable. Will is silent, and when Hannibal returns to his seat, Will stares into the fire to avoid looking at him.

“Perhaps you should elaborate on that, Will.”

Hannibal is right, once again. Will has made his decision. He is already damned, has been since he dragged them off of that cliff and into the ocean. Saying the words is easier than it should be, and he breathes deeply and clearly.

“It’s been very quiet lately. Perhaps we should have a guest for dinner?”

**Author's Note:**

> literally written at midnight, so like, sorry? also i have no idea how hannibal talks, please forgive me


End file.
